


I would never want to force your hand (I could be good to you)

by nocctem



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (all sex is sober), Alcohol, Casual Sex, Developing Friendships, Dom/sub Undertones, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Praise Kink, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 18:58:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13254612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocctem/pseuds/nocctem
Summary: Dorian returns to Skyhold shaken and in need of a distraction after meeting his father in Redcliffe. The Iron Bull is more than happy to listen to his woes, but Dorian has something else in mind--if he can muster up the courage to ask.





	I would never want to force your hand (I could be good to you)

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally inspired by (and ended up going off in a verry different direction than) a dialogue prompt I saw on tumblr. I've tried to no avail to dig up the original prompt so I can give them credit, but the prompt is responsible for the "I thought you were afraid of me?" and "haha I think I might pass out" dialogue. If you know the source link it to me so I can give proper credit!
> 
> Ngl, this is more or less self-indulgent smut and an excuse to write some of my favorite kinks. Enjoy.

The pale stone walls of Skyhold emerging as they left the mountain pass, stark against the clear sky and snowy landscape, were a welcome sight after the past few days of steep and treacherous terrain. Dorian rocked back and forth against his horse, fatigue weighing heavily on his shoulders. A headache pressed against the back of his head--a dull, constant throbbing which was only spreading, wrapping like a tight hand around his skull. 

So: all things considered he was rather prepared to drink himself into a stupor, and fully intended to as soon as he got back to Skyhold, unpacked, checked in as necessary with Adaar and Leliana, if there wasn’t more work to be done as soon as he returned.

...Which probably would have been for the best, Dorian knew. But damn it if one couldn’t have one’s vices.

 

“So, Dorian,” the Iron Bull’s voice cut through the angry static in his head, snapping him back to the present. Dorian blinked hard, his mind’s reconstruction of Hallward Pavus’ disapproving face dissipating like smoke. Right. The tavern. Around him were dimly lit lanterns, the simple candle chandelier illuminating the corner of his vision. Iron Bull sat at the bar across next to him, his body angled to face Dorian, resting an elbow on the bartop. “You don’t seem like the type to be slumming it around a tavern. Figured it was beneath you. Glad to see you can have some fun with the rest of us.”

Dorian scoffed and affected a puffed-up sense of superiority. He brought his tankard to his lips, taking a moment to appreciate the way Cabot’s strongest burned in his nostrils. Like a promise, and a hint of the numbness that would surely follow. It was a southern secret, Cabot said; some do-it-yourself backwater shit. It was horrid, but Dorian didn’t have a mind to care. He tipped his tankard back and took a quick gulp, managing not to cough at the way it stung and warmed the back of his throat. “Believe me, I’ve done plenty of slumming around in Tevinter. When you’re morally degenerate as I, gilded shits lose their appeal, I’m afraid. One must find a way to entertain oneself.”

The Iron Bull laughed, low and rumbling from his gut. Dorian felt it deep in his stomach, sending a jittery and heady feeling throughout him.

“And how is that working out for you?” The Iron Bull asked. “Not missing your cushy Imperium now, are you?”

Dorian sneered. “Not for the life of me.” It came out a growl. His face burned in a flash of anger now, and he tipped his head away and took another swig to hide it, knuckles white around the handle. He could feel the Iron Bull’s single eye on him, appraising him steadily. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have minded being watched, but now the Bull’s gaze was a little too akin to being put under a magnifying glass. Knowing that he was being scrutinized made his skin crawl. He set his tankard down and fidgeted with a ring on his right hand.

The tavern was beginning to clear out, the sun having set hours ago. The few remaining patrons leaned up against one another, speaking in slurred, hushed tones, or dozed quietly. Sera’s snoring drifted in from the floor above. Silence swelled between them until it was a tangible weight set on Dorian’s shoulders.

“So, uh…” The Iron Bull began again. “If there’s something on your mind, Dorian, something you want to talk about, you can. I’m giving you an opening right now.”

Dorian snapped his head over-- _ vertigo, bad idea _ . That Ferelden swill hit him quick. Willing his vision back into focus, he swallowed down a lump of bile in his throat and spoke through his teeth, “What makes you think-” Interrupted by a hiccup. The Bull’s gaze flickered to his lips, but his expression remained carefully neutral. Dorian leaned forward, jabbing his finger at Bull’s chest, closer than he intended, and grabbed the bartop with his other hand to steady himself. Loading as much venom as he could into his words, he stuttered out, “What- what makes you think that there’s anything to talk about?” 

The Iron Bull looked down at Dorian’s finger where it nearly touched his chest. Dorian could feel the heat radiating off the Bull’s body. When had they gotten so close? If Dorian leaned forward any more, or Bull shifted, they might touch. Bull instead leaned away, scooting backward on his seat to give Dorian more room. Dorian couldn’t help but feel disappointed but pushed that confusing thought away. Shakily, he withdrew his hand, laying it in a fist on his lap.

Bull shrugged, “Just a guess,” he offered noncommittally, before smiling slyly. “Ben-Hassrath training, remember? Reading people is part of the job.” His smile disappeared as soon as it came, mouth setting in a thoughtful frown which caught Dorian off-guard. “I’m serious though. No use in letting it eat you.” A beat. “You want that, I can think of something better.”

...And it was gone.

“ _ Marvelous _ .” Dorian snapped back waspishly. “Was this all just a setup for one of your lewd jokes?

Iron Bull laughed. “Not  _ just. _ You know me though.” He grunted, flexing one pectoral and then the other. 

Dorian groaned loudly and hid his face in his hand, leaning heavily against the bar for support. Idly, he picked up his tankard, checking its weight and finding it to be empty. He signaled Cabot over with a lazy flick of his hand. “Another, please. Bull?” Dorian dug in his belt for his coin purse, his fingers clumsy.

“Oh, don’t worry, big guy. I’ve got it.” Before Dorian could protest he found Bull’s hand enclosed around his own, stilling it. Bull patted it gently.

Dorian wondered faintly  _ how much _ the Bull knew of his...situation. That he acted high and mighty, but since selling his birthright he wasn’t much better off than the rest of them. The Inquisition provided for his needs, but even the Inquisition was still hobbling back to its feet after losing Haven and being forced to relocate. After his necessary expenses were taken care of, Dorian didn’t have much money to himself. He would have had to scrape together his coppers and silvers to pay, but he had never told the Bull that. How much did he know, and how much had he guessed? 

He couldn’t have known what Dorian and Adaar had traveled privately to Redcliffe for. That was kept between the two of them and--well, Adaar’s advisors, Leliana and the rest. But that was something Dorian had requested Adaar keep quiet about, and he trusted that she had kept her word. 

Why that simple gesture should cause warmth to spread through his chest, Dorian preferred not to hazard a guess. Instead, he chalked it up to how drunk he already was.

Well, perhaps. It couldn’t hurt.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, his mind working to find the least humiliating way to tell Bull, Bull said:

“You know, I had gotten the impression that you were frightened of me. Get over that finally?” His head was tilted back slightly so that he looked at Dorian down his nose. More than usual, at least. Whether it was mockery or the effect of alcohol on his balance, Dorian couldn’t quite tell. His voice rumbled in amusement. He was leaning against the bartop as Dorian was, though he still seemed steadier. His shoulders sloped loosely, his posture the most relaxed Dorian had ever seen it. The realization hit Dorian, and he found it oddly charming: to see the Iron Bull, always on guard, watchful, unwinding next to him like an old friend. A rarity.

“I-I beg your pardon?” The acidity he would have liked to wield was gone. He blinked hard, forcing his expression into what he hoped was a convincingly incredulous glare.

Cabot returned with two reeking pitchers. Bull motioned for Dorian to slide over his tankard, which he did without thinking. Bull filled Dorian’s tankard up and handed it to him before pouring his own. Dorian took it with unsteady hands.

“No? Well, wary then. I wouldn’t blame you. Most ‘Vints I meet are. And likewise,” Bull said easily, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Dorian supposed as he tipped his tankard back, a little too quickly--rivulets dripped down his chin, setting into his collar--that it was. Centuries of warring will do that. Still.

Before Dorian knew what he was saying, he was blabbering again, the pleasant haziness in his head making it difficult to care to filter himself. Not that he usually took great pains to do so anyway. “Oh, Maker, yes. I think I’m going to pass out actually. Or swoon, rather.” Bull raised his lone brow. Dorian continued, “But, you know,” he lifted his tankard, Cabot’s strongest sloshing against the inside, as a demonstration, “I’ve got some...stuff to do. I can have a panic attack and relieve this all in horribly vivid nightmares in my own time.”

He  _ had  _ been wary around the Bull initially, of course. He was reasonably certain that his caution was unfounded now, and they had fought together for long enough to build up some level of trust. He was at least, pretty sure the Bull wouldn’t fuck him over intentionally. And by Tevinter standards, that was enough and  _ then  _ some.

Besides, Adaar trusted him, and he trusted her judgment.

Bull hummed low in his throat. “‘ _ Stuff’ _ meaning getting absolutely shitfaced, right?”

Dorian laughed, raising his tankard in a toast. “ _ Precisely _ !” Bull joined him, and they clinked their cups together, alcohol mixing and sloshing over the side, over their fingers, soon to dry into a sticky mess. If Dorian were any soberer he would certainly have complained. Not now.

They drank deeply. Dorian jerked his cup away, doubled over and overcome with a coughing fit. Bull pat his back soothingly. “S-stop it,” Dorian sputtered, his chest heaving. “I’m fine.” He pawed Bull’s hand away. 

“Take it easy there, big guy.” Bull allowed himself to be pushed away, and for an absurd moment, Dorian worried that he had offended him. Looking up, he saw that Bull only looked mildly concerned. “You don’t need to outdrink me, you know. Can’t, anyway. But hey, we can only do so much with what we were given.”

Dorian righted himself, wiping his chin on the back of his hand. “Stop being so blightedly smug, you lumbering oxman. I assure you-” He tipped back, his momentum carrying him. Bull caught him by the shoulder before he could topple off his stool. “...Thank you,” Dorian said when he had settled, then continued. “I assure you, I’m just fine. I’m a grown man, and...” Dorian trailed off, unsure of where he was going, what point he was trying to make. “I’m…oh, Maker’s  _ breath _ .”

“I think we ought to call it quits for tonight,” Bull said, chuckling. His arm darted out to slide Dorian’s tankard out of reach before he could react.

Dorian made a frustrated noise, reaching after his cup fruitlessly. He gave up quickly, laying his head against the bartop. The rough wood scratched at his face. From there, he gave Bull the best stink-eye he could manage. “I hate you,” he huffed.

Bull merely shrugged. “I won’t stop you if you really want to keep going. That’s your business. Just don’t think it’s advisable.” His tone was warm but firm.

Dorian narrowed his eyes,  _ hmm _ -ed consideringly at him, but stayed put. He felt suddenly put-out and unsure of what to do with himself. Irritation scratched against the back of his skull; animated his fingers, tapping irregularly at the bartop.

A bar stool sliding quietly against the worn wood floor. Bull stood slowly, measuring that he had his balance before setting off. “The tower is a little ways. Think you can manage all of those steps by yourself?” He asked, rolling his shoulders back languidly. Dorian knew he was staring, and staring very  _ obviously _ , but Bull didn’t comment--although Dorian thinks he saw Bull’s mouth twitch a little. “If not, you can come to my room if you like.”

An opening, and an interesting prospect. The Iron Bull, inviting him to sleep with him? Andraste’s tits, what a way to end a night. Not to mention what his father would think--

No. If Dorian was going to fuck someone, it wasn't going to be to slight his over-controlling father. He had grown past that. 

Still--he knew his hazy drunkenness wouldn't last, and tonight, in particular, he was in the market for a distraction.

Pushing himself up with great effort, Dorian replied, “What, so you can take advantage of me in my drunken state? How very  _ beastly _ .” No real sting in his words--all play. In Tevinter, that would have been all he needed to convince some ruggedly handsome stranger to take him in a dusty back room. Something quick and dirty between two people who would likely never see one another again.

Bull’s reply was stiff, Dorian noted with interest. “Um, no. Drunk hookups aren’t really my style.”

“Ah,” Dorian hoped Bull couldn't detect his disappointment. Silence.

“Well, then,” Dorian said quickly, swinging his legs out from under the bar and sliding off. Vertigo took him briefly before Bull stepped forward and Dorian caught himself with a hand on Bull’s bicep. It occurred to Dorian, slowly, that he had never touched the Bull’s bicep before. It felt much larger under his hand than he would have imagined. He resisted the urge to test the muscle underneath. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine.” Trying to dismiss himself, “Goodnight, Bull.”

Bull pulled him back by the shoulder, nearly tipping him off balance again. “I’ll walk you back.” Before Dorian could argue, he waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s no trouble.”

 

  
Morning. The gathering sunlight filtered through the high arching windows of Skyhold’s library, dim and diffused for now. As the sun rose higher in the sky the light would cut through the stone halls in beams.

Dorian cracked his eyes open with great effort and regretted doing so immediately. His head throbbed something  _ awful _ , and the growing daylight did nothing to allay the pain. Equally horrible was his thirst. His mouth felt absolutely wretched. 

Grumbling, he peeled himself out of his chair slowly, mindful of the way his muscles and joints ached. A combination of the cold and the hangover, he imagined.

Dusting off his leathers--Maker, he was still wearing his leathers from last night. Apparently he had collapsed in an exhausted and drunken heap as soon as he cleared the stairs. Dorian huffed in exasperation, because  _ of course _ he did. Checking his face in a small handheld, he found that the kohl he wore yesterday was smudged deep underneath his eyes. His hair was a wreck, too. Ah, well.

He made necessary adjustments and stole quickly down to the kitchen for a large mug of water. If he was lucky, he could convince one of the servant girls to let him sneak a muffin. 

Returning with a full cup and not one, but two muffins, he made himself as comfortable as he could in his chair. There was work to be done, as much as he would have personally liked to hide in a dark corner, perhaps stretched out on a decent bed, until his hangover subsided. 

The Bull  _ had _ offered his bed, Dorian remembered. Perhaps if he had taken him up on his offer he might have had a decent place to ride out this damn headache.  _ Might _ have. He had never actually seen the Bull’s room, now that he thought of it.

What was it like? Dorian wondered absently as he retrieved his notes, mixed in with Leliana’s. Something they had begun working on together recently, at Dorian’s suggestion. So far it was proving to be more of an ordeal than he had originally anticipated.

Bull was a very practical man, so Dorian doubted that his room was filled with various baubles and ornaments. It was scantily decorated, if at all, Dorian thought. A basic bed, a few chests and drawers for storage, and maybe a weapon rack. Bull didn't spend much time in his room, from what Dorian could tell. It would make sense for it to be somewhat neglected. 

Dorian blinked. He had been rereading the same few sentences over and over. Shaking his head slightly, he narrowed his eyes and attempted to return his focus to the page before him. 

 

 

Snapping his book shut with a sigh, Dorian folded over, fingers digging into his temples. Well, that was a right proper  _ waste of time _ . His pounding headache from this morning hadn’t quite abated, and his vision was starting to swim from poring over tiny, scrawled text all day. He had hoped that Skyhold, with its rich history, would have had in its possession more books of quality covering Tevinter history, but it seemed he was wrong. Despite his hopes, the fact didn’t surprise him in the least. The more time he spent outside of the Imperium, the more he felt that Tevinter history was a taboo topic in the South. He would make sure to mention the fact to Adaar when he saw her next, and talk to Leliana about where the Inquisition might get its hands on the tomes he sought. 

The Bull had stopped by the library earlier--’just to check on you’, he said. Dorian exhaled a puff of air through his nose and slumped lower in his chair. Thinking back on it, and on last night, he couldn’t help but feel a hot flash of embarrassment. He just wasn’t sure what to make of Bull being so… Dorian struggled for the right word, one which went against every bit of Imperial propaganda about Qunari.  _ Considerate _ , he supposed. Yes, that sounded about right.  _ Considerate _ . Bull saw through Dorian’s pleasure-seeking behavior for what it was--a need for a distraction after an emotionally trying day. He gave Dorian an opportunity to talk about it if he wished, and didn’t press the issue when Dorian didn’t. He bought Dorian’s drinks and escorted him back to his room when he was too unsteady on his feet to go alone. 

He hadn’t expected anything in return, either. Such kindness without asking a favor--political or sexual--wasn’t something Dorian was used to. It left him feeling as if a rug had been pulled out from beneath his feet.

_ Continuously surprising, that Iron Bull _ , he mused, tapping his lip.

Rather than dwell in his thoughts any longer, he folded his notes up delicately and closed them in his book, which he set on his desk. He got up, rolling his shoulders and neck loose from sitting still so long, and made for the battlements to get some fresh air.

 

 

Whatever personal embarrassment Dorian suffered that night, things were different between them after that. Easier. It’s a relief, Dorian thinks, because he was fully prepared for his moment of personal weakness to be held above him like a bludgeon. And although the Bull was sometimes crude and infuriating with all his needling, he was also attractive in a way Dorian couldn’t deny. He had always appreciated muscular men, and the Iron Bull was above and beyond any of the men Dorian had fucked in the past. He also appreciated large men, and the Iron Bull was,  _ well _ …

Imagine: the Iron Bull picking him up and holding him against a wall while fucking him. He could do it easily, Dorian was sure. Held like that, Dorian would be forced to take it, entirely at the Bull’s mercy. He wasn’t entirely sure he would mind.

...It was a curious thought, at least. One which led to other imaginings, late at night. The Bull’s hands on him, large and calloused. How would the Bull touch him? Would he slowly and methodically take him apart? Or would he be quick and rough, overwhelming him to the point of climax?

A curious thought indeed. One that Dorian couldn’t seem to get out of his head of late.

Bull didn’t help matters much, either, what with his unceasing use of innuendo to tease Dorian. Inviting him to watch him bathe, telling him to hike up his  _ skirt _ …

Dorian sniffed. It was a  _ robe _ , thank you.

And so it was that Dorian found himself once again, a couple weeks later, in the tavern. This time, Bull had invited him, and once again threw Dorian off-balance. Being in a tavern was nothing new. But being invited to drink among friends, having a reserved place to sit, _that_ was new. The novelty of it spurred his steps and made him feel feather-light as he descended the steps to the courtyard. He paid no heed to the nagging voice at the back of his mind which sounded suspiciously like his father warning him of what he might be getting himself into. On the contrary, he half-hoped it was right.

He crept in the tavern quietly, shutting the door behind him unsteadily. All his previous bravado disappeared as soon as he reached the door, and suddenly he was seized by the paralyzing fear that he had misread Bull’s generosity. That he was not welcome as he had assumed. Most people under the Inquisition still eyed him with open suspicion. Bull, especially, would have good reason not to want to be around a Tevinter mage, after all--

He was wrenched from his thoughts by Bull’s booming, “Dorian!” from across the room. He keenly felt the other bar patrons’ attention on him, as well as the  _ very palatable  _ charge in the air from their reflexive hostility. He managed a wave in Bull’s direction, perhaps with more put-on flourish than strictly necessary.

Bull was with who Dorian assumed to be his Chargers when he crossed the tavern, though Krem was the only one he recognized. All sat clustered together, tankards in hand. Bull patted an empty space on the bench next to him.

“I don't suppose you've met the Chargers, have you?” Bull said once Dorian sat down. He was very close, the crowded table forcing them together. 

“Not formally, no. With the exception of Krem.” The latter raised a hand lazily and muttered a small “ _ Altus _ ”. Dorian signaled Cabot for an order of Ferelden beer. 

Bull grinned wide and clapped his enormous hands together, clearly relishing the opportunity to introduce them one-by-one. Dorian wondered, a grin tugging at his lips, how often he did this.

“Alright! Starting from Krem’s left we have Stitches, Dalish, Grim, and Skinner. Right next to you is Rocky. Say hi, guys.” A few of the Chargers--Stitches and Dalish, was it? Nodded a silent, if somewhat terse, greeting towards him. The rest looked at him wordlessly. Dorian did his best to give a courteous dip of the head in return.

Pretty soon the Chargers turned their attention away from Dorian, much to his relief. They focused instead on reenacting the highlights of increasingly bizarre missions. Transformed by the combination of alcohol and an audience, each was simultaneously storyteller and actor; and they worked together spiritedly to spin animated tales of their misadventures.

Dorian, for his part, mainly sat back and watched--laughing along as the rest of the Chargers erupted into raucous laughter. 

Only when the Bull was retelling his own version of an adventure did everyone go quiet. He was a dynamic storyteller; his voice rising and falling with the progression of the story, gesturing in grand, excited sweeps when the tale took a turn for the dangerous. The Chargers sat on the edge of their seats in rapt silence, occasionally grinning wildly to one another when they knew the story was about to get good. Dorian found himself mesmerized, leaning back to take the whole of him in. The wide, unguarded smile he wore now, the way his single eye flashed in the heat of the moment--it was all oddly endearing. The man he saw before him now seemed some twenty years younger, youthful and invincible.

 

 

It was later in the night, and Dorian had had some time for his drink to settle into a comfortable warmth in his stomach. Most of the other bar patrons had left long ago, leaving only Cabot to wipe down the countertop. Dalish was telling a story now, standing with one knee hiked up onto the table like an explorer claiming new land. It was, from what Dorian could tell, about the time that she and Skinner had infiltrated an operation to escort and sell Elven slaves. Skinner muttered to herself about ‘ _ damn Shems _ ’ while carving into the tabletop with her knife. Bull and the other Chargers offered grunts and cheers of approval as Dalish continued her tale, rocking with her liquor.  

Without looking away, Dorian slid a purposeful hand to rest on Bull’s knee. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw Bull shift to look at him. He forced himself to return the gaze in his best impression of nonchalance he could muster with his heart beating out of his chest. Congratulated himself when it seemed to have its desired effect. He noticed the Bull’s breathing deepen just slightly as he leaned toward Dorian--perhaps unconsciously.

Elated that Bull had taken the bait, Dorian rose from his seat, gliding a hand feather-light up Bull’s bicep to his shoulder as he went. When he reached Bull’s meaty shoulder he gave it a little squeeze. This evoked a few raised eyebrows from the Chargers, Krem most notably, but no comments save a whistle. Dorian barely stifled a flinch. He mentally grit his teeth and doubled down on his efforts, remembering why he was here.

Leaning down languorously, he whispered in the Bull’s pointed ear, breath ghosting over his neck. “I think I’m going to turn in for the night. That offer for your bed still open?”

Up this close, Dorian could hear the Bull swallow. It sent a rush of exhilaration through him, knowing he could affect him so. 

Then, anything Dorian could have read as trepidation was replaced by a slow, confident smile, as Bull craned his neck to face him. “First door on your left. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Now  _ that _ sent Dorian’s heart thudding in his chest. He nodded mutely and turned to walk away.

 

 

Dorian was, as it turned out, mostly right about Bull’s room. The practicality of it was just as he thought--a chest and cupboard pushed against the wall, a chest against the foot of the massive bed, a couple of wall sconces, and a desk for writing. The desk was of particular interest--Dorian found the thought of Bull hunched over, struggling to fit his legs under the desktop as he wrote letters by candlelight an amusing one. In addition to the rather sensible furniture, Bull had a few shelves decorated with what Dorian recognized as plunders from their expeditions. A wyvern skull left immaculately clean by sun and wear sat perched atop one of these shelves. Dorian eyed it with appreciation. 

He took the liberty of undoing the straps on his boots and shucked them off, taking care to place them neatly together at the foot of the bed. With a flick of his wrist, the wall sconces blazed to life, the fire dancing shadows across the floor and walls. 

The wooden floorboards creaked just outside. Dorian jerked his head over just as Bull opened the door and stepped in the room, the light from the sconces washing over him and tinting his skin a warmer grey. Their eyes met and Dorian studied him for one breathless moment.

Bull cleared his throat. “So, you gonna tell me what this is about?”

Dorian flushed, immediately feeling defensive, and shot back, “What do you mean?”

Bull closed the door carefully behind him. “Look, Dorian, I’m not stupid. I know something has been bugging you.” He paused for a moment, letting his words hang in the air as Dorian glared. 

He continued, shrugging, “You don’t have to tell me. I just don’t want you rushing into my bed if you’re going to regret it later. You need someone to distract you for a night, no strings attached? I can do that.” Bull edged closer, crowding Dorian so that the back of his knees hit the mattress. With both hands he traced up the back of Dorian’s arms with his fingers, coming to rest on his shoulders. Dorian held his gaze steadily.

“What I need,” Dorian said through gritted teeth, “is for you to fuck me senseless.”

Bull’s eye darkened. “Can do. You sure you won’t regret it?” He snaked a hand from Dorian’s shoulder to cup the back of his neck gently, his fingers combing through the closely shaved hair down his nape. 

Dorian leaned into the hand on his neck, trying to tempt Bull into gripping his hair. “What I would regret is returning to my quarters hard and thoroughly un-fucked. If you would be so kind.”

Sensing what he was after, Bull ran his hand up Dorian’s scalp and gripped hard at the crown, pulling Dorian’s head back and exposing his neck. Dorian’s mouth fell open with a groan. Then just as quickly as it had happened, Bull’s hand was gone, and Dorian scowled up at him for the loss of contact.

Bull gazed down at him earnestly, the intensity of his gaze belying his natural smile. “You decide you don’t want this, or I do something that makes you uncomfortable, you can back out any time. Just say the word.”

Dorian huffed impatiently, and Bull chuckled. “Eager are we?” He brought his hands up to cup Dorian’s face, fingers stroking his cheeks lightly. It was all shockingly gentle. Dorian had rather expected to have been thrown on the bed by now. He tried not to lean into the touch too obviously, but wasn’t able to help the way his eyes fluttered shut. 

“Hey.”

Dorian opened his eyes to find Bull’s face close, watching him with a focus that sent heat to color his cheeks. 

“Anything at all, and I’ll stop. No questions asked. Understood?”

Dazed, Dorian nodded. He hadn’t expected Bull to be so careful with him, and he was surprised by the overwhelming relief he felt. He blinked and took a steadying breath, looking up at the Bull in earnest. “Understood.”

Bull shifted one hand so that the pad of his thumb rested against Dorian’s bottom lip, asking permission. Dorian darted his tongue out, licking it gently, then closed his lips around it. He hummed in appreciation and his eyes slipped shut when Bull slid his thumb in further, using his other fingers to cup Dorian’s jaw and tip his head back slightly.

“Fuck that’s hot. Look at you,” Bull said, approval evident in his voice. Dorian melted against him, arousal stirring in the pit of his stomach. “Bet you would love to suck my dick, the way you’re sucking on my finger like that.” Dorian moaned around Bull’s thumb as the suggestion had his cock twitching. He brought his hands to rest against Bull’s chest, leaning into him.

He felt himself being pushed back and found Bull’s mouth on his neck, kissing him languorously. After placing a sloppy open-mouthed kiss over Dorian’s collarbone--Dorian couldn’t find it within him to complain--Bull paused to ask, “...Hickeys okay?” 

Dorian hummed his assent the best he could, nodding frantically. “Please,” he managed to say.

Bull nodded and set to work, taking his hand from Dorian’s chin to pull his collar open. He nipped lightly along his neck and the line of his collarbones, each time pausing to suck the skin and pull blood to the surface. Dorian bit his lip to hold back a whine. He brought his hands to grip Bull’s horns, finding them unfamiliarly close and convenient to hold on to. 

“Gotta get all this leather off you,” Bull laughed against his neck, and Dorian breathed a puff of laughter with him. “You wanna help me out?”

“I’m sure you can manage.”

“Alright, then,” Bull said, amused, and began undoing the straps around Dorian’s shoulder with surprising deftness. While Dorian left the work of untying and unbuckling his clothes to Bull, Dorian did his part of shimmying out when it was loose. Bull laid his clothes neatly over the back of his desk chair. At last Dorian was bare-chested and stripped of his outer leathers, leaving only the wool leggings he wore underneath for warmth. His cock, not yet fully hard, was beginning to make a tent. Bull slipped his thumbs under his waistband to slide the leggings down.

“Not yet,” Dorian said. 

Bull quirked his single eyebrow. “Oh? You gonna suck me off after all?”

Dorian didn’t answer, but his blush was more than enough confirmation. He slid his hands up to Bull’s shoulder harness. “Let’s get this off of you.” With quick fingers he undid the buckles, pulling the leather free. Bull took it and laid it on his desk. Dorian sunk to his knees, sliding his hands down Bull’s chest and coming to rest on his thighs. He pressed his fingers into the muscle there, appreciating the firmness of it. From here he could see the impressive tent Bull’s cock made in his ridiculously baggy trousers. He palmed it gently, looking up to see Bull suck in a breath. He felt Bull’s thigh tense up under his fingers.

Looking up with mock-innocence, Dorian asked, “May I?” as his fingers teased at Bull’s waistband. 

Bull nodded his assent. “Go for it, big guy.”

Dorian hooked his fingers under and slid the waistband down, working it carefully over Bull’s length. Bull was already half-hard when his cock sprang free. Hesitation gripped Dorian, slowing his fingers. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen the Bull’s cock before--they had spent too much time traveling together and living in close quarters to have been modest--but standing half-mast as it was and from Dorian’s position it suddenly seemed much larger. Bull was certainly larger than any of the men he had tussled with in the past.

Reading his misgivings, perhaps expecting them, Bull said, “It’s okay if you change your mind. Most people I sleep with give up once they take a look.”

_ Unfair, _ Dorian thought. Rather than voice it he arched an eyebrow pointedly and grinned up at Bull, saying, “I’m not most people.”

He slid Bull’s trousers down the rest of the way, taking care when sliding them over his leg brace. He tapped it as Bull kicked his discarded pants out of the way. “What do you want to do about this?”

“I’ll get it off. Here,” Bull encouraged Dorian to scoot over with a hand on the back of his neck so that Bull could sit on the bed. Dorian shivered at the ghost touch on his neck. Maker, he  _ really _ liked that, and the realization surprised him. He filed it away to think about later.

Dorian resumed position kneeling in front of Bull, this time facing the bed. The leg brace was unfamiliar to him, but he helped Bull loosen the straps and buckles where he could find them.

“There we go,” Bull sighed, leaning back on his hands, the mattress sagging heavily under his weight. Dorian set the brace on the desk next to Bull’s harness.

Scooting closer, Dorian could feel the worn grain of the cold wood floor digging into his knees through his leggings. “You really should invest in a rug, you know,” he said as he palmed Bull’s cock, testing the heft of it in his hand before wrapping his hand gently around the base and stroking with his thumb.

“Are you proposing a repeat performance?” Bull laughed, though it was somewhat forced, his breathing already affected. Dorian rolled his eyes and huffed.

He closed his mouth over the head, tasting a hint of precome as he swirled his tongue over the slit and along the flared ridges. Experimentally, he took Bull down further, mindful not to trigger his gag reflex. He sucked, hollowing his cheeks out. Above him, he heard Bull curse.

Pulling back, he said seriously, “Don’t be gentle with me.” He took Bull quickly back into his mouth, not giving him time for a smart remark. Bull groaned, and gripped a fistful of Dorian’s hair as requested. Dorian moaned enthusiastically around Bull’s cock and felt Bull twitch against his tongue in response. A smug grin tugged at the corner of Dorian’s lips.

“Fuck, Dorian, look at you. Taking my cock so well.” Dorian’s chest swelled with pride at the praise. He dug his fingers into Bull’s calves for leverage and raised his head only to sink back down, taking Bull deeper than before. Bull barely stopped himself from rocking his hips into Dorian’s mouth. “S- _ Shit _ \--”

Dorian made a sound of impatience as he breathed heavily through his nose, hands coming up to grip Bull’s thighs. His nails dug sharply into the skin there; little points of pain which only intensified the Bull’s pleasure. 

Bull gripped the bed sheets tightly, his breaths coming out shuddering. Dorian’s face was buried between his thighs, nose pressed into the wiry hair coiled there. His lips stretched flushed pink around Bull’s cock and his eyes were narrowed in concentration. Bull could feel his labored breaths cool against his heated skin. 

Dorian drew back, letting Bull’s cock slip from his mouth with a slick  _ pop _ . He was gasping for air, his voice hitching in a moan on each ragged exhale. In the absence of his mouth, he worked Bull with his hands, taking advantage of the extra lubrication his saliva provided to stroke in short, quick motions.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” was all Bull could manage through stuttering breaths. Dorian looked gorgeously wrecked already--cheeks dusky pink, eyebrows drawn up and eyes heavily lidded with arousal. His lips glistened and Bull had to fight the urge to pull him close and kiss him right then. He was wonderfully expressive, in that way that was uniquely  _ Dorian _ . But this was a different kind of expressiveness than his usual theatrical front. Here, his body was perfectly honest--telling Bull that he was getting off on this as much as Bull himself was. Bull wondered faintly if Dorian was even aware of how much his body was revealing to him.

Bull jumped as the heat of Dorian’s tongue pressed flat against the underside of his dick. Dorian dragged his tongue up slowly, pausing at the head to suck in a breath before taking it in his mouth once more. He let his eyes flutter shut and exhaled a pleased sigh through his nose before he began moving in earnest. Bull tightened his grip on Dorian’s hair, coaxing him further with gentle pressure. If Dorian continued at the pace he was going now, Bull knew it wouldn’t be long...

“Dorian--” Bull gasped in warning. Dorian’s eyes flicked up to meet Bull’s, purposefully, to say,  _ I know. _ Rather than back off, he brought one hand from where it was wrapped tightly around Bull’s thigh to circle around the base of his cock and sucked hard. 

Bull jerked forward, his orgasm crashing through his body in waves. He doubled over, hand heavy over Dorian’s head, holding him close. Dorian took all of Bull’s spend, breathing heavily and letting out a muffled, shaky moan. He continued sucking gently until Bull had ridden his climax to the end before letting Bull’s cock slip soft out of his mouth.

“Fucking magnificent,” Bull breathed, his face affectionate and reverent above him. A light blush dusted over his scarred cheeks, and Dorian stared at the novelty of it. Post-sex and bathed in the sconces’ warm, diffused light, the hard lines of Bull’s scarred face blurred and melted into something softer. “C’mere.”

Dorian found himself being lifted up into the bed, Bull’s hands strong under his arms. He was brought up to straddle Bull’s lap, and he sagged against Bull’s chest at his first opportunity, needing skin-to-skin contact like an anchor. He buried his face in the crook of Bull’s neck and breathed in his scent, felt Bull’s arms wrap around him. He let that center him.

“Amazing,” Bull said, his breath ghosting over Dorian’s ear. Dorian shivered and sank further into his embrace. With one hand he cupped the back of Dorian’s neck and carded gently through his hair. There they stayed for a few moments, Dorian listening to Bull’s breathing slow, feeling his heartbeat under his palm.

Bull pat Dorian’s back lightly. “You still with me?” Dorian groaned and shook his head in what Bull thought was an affirmative. “Gonna need you to use your words, big guy,” Bull said, laughing softly. 

“Ugh,  _ yes _ ,” Dorian snapped, though with less ire than usual. Bull chuckled. “Now there’s the ‘Vint I know.” Dorian huffed, his breath cool against Bull’s neck. 

Thinking about it, Bull was reasonably certain that this wasn’t exactly what Dorian was used to, or had expected from him initially. Bull knew what Tevinter was like--it was unlikely that Dorian had experienced much beyond an array of quick and dirty fucks in the dark, away from prying eyes. Sex between men was tolerated as long as it was simply for fun.

Bull could do that if that’s what Dorian wanted from him. But the Dorian he saw before him now--vulnerable and clinging to him like he was a lifeline--needed something more. Bull would have had to be seriously dense not to see that. And as long as Dorian would let him, Bull was happy to give it to him in this way.

He let his arms fall to Dorian’s thighs, rubbing circles against Dorian’s hip bones with this thumbs. Beneath his leggings Dorian was still achingly hard, Bull noticed with no small amount of appreciation. “You good?”

Dorian leaned back, hooking his arms over Bull’s shoulders. He ground his ass against Bull’s dick, which would have been better if Bull wasn’t limp as a noodle. Desire curled in his belly nonetheless. 

“I want your cock inside me. Now.” Dorian said, his eyes locked with Bull’s one. 

“Shit,” Bull breathed. 

Dorian smiled, eyebrows arched delicately. His head tipped back--exposing his neck, where the hickeys Bull had left were beginning to bloom beautifully--and so that he could look at Bull down his nose. 

It was then that Bull appreciated Dorian’s noble upbringing, as annoying as his haughtiness generally was. Everything about his manner now said that he was beautiful, something to be treasured. He knew it, and  _ demanded  _ to be treated that way. And Bull had no intention of not following through on that.

Still. “Gonna be kinda hard since I can’t even get it up now. Won’t be able to for a bit, either.”

Dorian rolled his eyes and fucking  _ growled.  _ The sound of it went straight to Bull’s dick, which twitched in response. “ _ Think  _ of something then. Surely that’s not beyond you.” 

_ Fuck.  _ Bull groaned, “Sure thing.” Then before Dorian could react, Bull pushed him back onto the mattress. Dorian yelped in surprise and Bull used it to his advantage, laying a heavy hand on Dorian’s chest to keep him down before leaning over him. With his other hand, he pushed one of Dorian’s legs down and to the side, giving himself more room. 

He kissed a slow line down Dorian’s chest, stopping at his navel. “Let’s get these off you,” he said, fitting his thumbs underneath Dorian’s waistband and tugging his leggings down, taking special care to maneuver them over Dorian’s cock. When he had them off he paused to fold them and lay them at the foot of the bed. No way he was having Dorian yell at him later for wrinkling his undergarments. Knowing Dorian, that was exactly the sort of thing he would get upset over.

Dorian was already leaking, his cock flushed and straining against his belly. Bull would have loved to touch it, sure he could get Dorian off with a few quick and calculated strokes at this point. At the same time...

He buried his face in Dorian’s neck, nipping lightly at the bruises there and making Dorian hiss. He slotted his hands against Dorian’s sides and massaged his thumbs over his nipples, eliciting a soft moan. 

“ _ Maker, _ stop fucking  _ teasing me,  _ Bull!” Dorian thrust his hips up in search of stimulation. Bull stilled him with a hand on his hip, holding him against the mattress. Dorian barely bit back a whine of frustration.

Bull hummed as he moved down to mouth over Dorian’s chest. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you? That’s what you asked for.”

“ _ Yes, _ ” Dorian said, breathless.

“Plenty of time for that,” Bull said before sucking a nipple into his mouth, skimming his teeth gently over the peak. Dorian hissed a curse in Tevene, muffled against his palm. His other hand curled tightly in the sheets above his head. “I want to take my time to appreciate this. You’re so fucking hot right now, all frustrated.” Dorian groaned, eyes screwed shut. He rolled his hips forward and managed to graze his cock against Bull’s thigh, smearing precum.  _ Bingo,  _ Bull thought. He decided to see how far that would go, and moved up to whisper in Dorian’s ear.

“You did so well, sucking my cock before. You haven’t even touched yourself yet, waiting for me to take care of you. Fucking amazing.”

Bull felt a full-body shudder pass through Dorian. Incoherent curses tumbled from his lips in a mixture of Tevene and Common. “Fucking  _ hell,  _ Bull…”

“You think you could come from just my dick in your ass? Could you do that for me?” Dorian moaned loudly and arched his back, his cock jerking against Bull’s stomach. He took that as a  _ probably. _

With a single finger Bull gently brushed the hair off Dorian’s face where it had become matted to his forehead with sweat. He combed through his hair, scraping his nails against Dorian’s scalp in a way that had him leaning into the touch desperately. He cupped Dorian’s jaw with his other hand, laying his pointer finger against Dorian’s lips and relishing the way he took him in eagerly, his eyes blinking open, unfocused. “I’m gonna take care of you. You just sit tight.” He slid his finger from Dorian’s mouth and got up off the bed, to Dorian’s protests. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said in an attempt to placate, opening his desk drawer and retrieving a dark jar of oil. He settled himself back between Dorian’s thighs and popped off the cork. 

“There we go,” Bull said, tipping the jar and coating his first two fingers with oil. His cock was beginning to perk up again. Good. He set the jar down on the floor, close enough that he could reach it easily later.

He cupped his hand under Dorian’s ass and lifted him to rest in his lap. With his other hand, he pressed against Dorian’s hole with his two slicked up fingers and began massaging gently. Dorian had craned his neck up to see what Bull was doing, but now his head fell flat against the mattress with an open-mouthed gasp. His fingers flexed and curled in the sheets. He shifted, trying to bear down on Bull’s fingers for more stimulation before Bull caught him by the hip, holding him still. “Patience, patience. I’ve got you.” Dorian whined, but he stopped trying to press against him, his body going limp.

“Good, that’s good,” Bull murmured, and didn’t miss the way the praise made Dorian shiver. 

He spent a good while working Dorian open slowly, partly because he wasn’t sure how experienced Dorian was in this department, and partly because watching Dorian tremble with pleasure underneath him left him feeling heady. Dorian wasn’t fighting him anymore, he noticed--too far gone now to do more than simply  _ feel. _

Bull poured oil on his palm liberally and used it to slick up his cock. He was mostly hard now, having teased Dorian for a while. He looked up to see Dorian watching him hungrily.  _ Shit, _ the open  _ want _ on Dorian’s face was enough to send a flare of arousal through him. He swallowed, breathing heavy. “You ready?”

Dorian nodded emphatically, and managed to breathe, “Yes.” 

Bull eased his way in slowly, cursing in Qunlat. Dorian groaned and tensed up before Bull gripped his thighs and began rubbing circles with his thumbs, the gentle pressure giving him something else to focus on. “Easy, easy…” Bull soothed, and just like that the tension bled out of Dorian’s body and he went pliant again. 

They went on slowly like that until Bull was buried as far as he could go, sitting flush against Dorian’s ass and thighs. Dorian was quickly coming apart , and  _beautifully_ too. 

“Fucking gorgeous,” Bull said softly, and Dorian whined in return. Bull settled his hands over Dorian’s hips for leverage. He began to move, slowly.

It took a bit of trial and error, but Bull was able to find the right angle relatively quickly. When he did, Dorian keened, long and drawn out. 

Bull thrust harder, more confidently, once he was sure of the angle. Dorian took it, his head thrown back, chest heaving. Over both of their labored breathing, Bull could make out Dorian muttering, his words spilling out and tumbling over each other,  “ _ Bull, Bull, please-- _ ” 

That nearly did it for him. Bull’s hips stuttered into a faster, more urgent pace. Dorian choked out a sob and spilled over his stomach. Bull didn’t last much longer than that. He slowed down for Dorian’s sake, but after a few more good, deep thrusts he felt himself coming apart a second time. He slumped over Dorian, catching his breath before sliding out.

Dorian was still quite out of it, and Bull didn’t want to leave him while he was vulnerable like this. They both need to get cleaned up, Dorian especially, but Bull figured that could wait a few moments while Dorian resurfaced. He stretched out next to Dorian and laid a steadying hand across his chest. “Hey, there.”

Dorian turned toward him blindly, like a flower seeking the light. He sidled himself against Bull’s side, tucking his head under Bull’s shoulder. Bull shifted so that his arm hooked around Dorian’s shoulders and laid a hand on his back. Dorian settled into the embrace easily.

They stay like that for a few minutes, breathing slowing into something normal. Dorian was drifting, very nearly on his way to sleep before something itched at the back of his mind, drawing him out of his pleasant haze. Bull felt him tense minutely and stir at his side, and waited.

Dorian turned to look at Bull, opening his mouth before closing it. His thoughts were coming back to him slowly, but he couldn’t help the nervous energy creeping in at the corners of his mind. “I...I should go.”

Bull stiffened, and Dorian winced, fearing he had offended the man. 

“Go?” Bull said, his eyebrow furrowing. Instead of sounding angry, he just sounded concerned. 

Dorian pulled away, his movements slow and unsteady. He felt disconnected from his own body, which wanted nothing more than to lie back down and sink back into that weightless feeling. He set his feet on the floor, and said with his back turned to Bull, “Yes. This has been wonderful, but I can’t impose on you.”

He heard the bed creak as Bull propped himself up on his elbows behind him. “You won’t be imposing.” 

Dorian sighed and pulled his leggings from the foot of the bed, sliding them back on. Silently, he appreciated that Bull had taken the time to fold them up. Rather than say anything he hopped off the bed to retrieve his other clothes, before realizing. “Um, you don’t happen to have a rag, do you?” He turned back around, pointing to his stomach, which was still splattered with dried cum.

Bull leaped off the bed. “Let me.” He fished a washrag out of a drawer and soaked it in the wash bin in the far corner of his room. He wrung it out well before approaching Dorian. When he stood before him his mouth quirked up in a grin. “May I?” he asked, and despite himself Dorian smiled slightly too, remembering how he had coyly asked the same thing before sucking the Bull’s cock.

Dorian rolled his eyes, his imitation of long-suffering annoyance ruined by his genuine smile. “I suppose so.”

Bull wiped him down as tenderly as he had held him before, and Dorian found himself having to resist the urge to lean into the touch, to give in and stay the night pressed against him. It was...very tempting.

When Bull was done he draped the rag over his laundry bin and returned to help Dorian back into his clothes. 

“I can do this myself, you know,” Dorian said when Bull helped him buckle and fasten his leathers. He made no move to stop him, however.

“I know. But I’ve gotta make sure you’re okay. You got pretty into it and it would kind of be an asshole move  _ not  _ to check in with you.” Bull pulled the leather cords at Dorian’s shoulder taut, tying them impeccably. If Dorian weren’t leaving Bull’s room so late at night, and if his hair weren’t such a wreck, anyone might assume their activities were wholly innocent. 

“Well, alright then.” Dorian shrugged. A part of him appreciated Bull’s concern, as much as a part of him was unsure of why Bull thought it necessary. 

Bull moved from behind him. “There we go,” he smiled softly down at Dorian. “All put back together. You good?”

Dorian ran a hand through his hair to comb it into some semblance of order and lifted his chin haughtily. “Of course I am.” He was. His thighs were already beginning to ache from being held on the edge for so long, and he knew he would probably still feel it tomorrow. The bruises on his neck would last for the next week at least. Satisfaction curled low in his gut at the thought.

Bull laughed low but heartily. “Now  _ that’s  _ how I know you’re good. Never lose that tongue of yours, ‘Vint.”

“You love my tongue,” Dorian said, smirking.

“I do,” Bull said, without missing a beat. Dorian’s face warmed slightly.

Dorian rocked on his heels, unsure of how to make his exit. “Well. Thank you for... _ this _ . It’s been good, I must admit.” He started for the door.

Bull sank his weight back down onto the edge of the mattress, sitting to face Dorian. “Hey, anytime. You ever want to come back, my door’s always open.” 

Dorian visibly weighed what he might say before deciding on, “Goodnight, Bull.”

“Goodnight, Dorian. See you tomorrow.” 

Dorian slipped outside.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to the song, 'I'd Be Surprisingly Good For You' from Evita. Not ashamed.


End file.
